


Nightstalkers

by grossferatu



Series: His Master, a Holmes [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampires, Blood Drinking, Dark Greg Lestrade, Dark Lestrade, Dark Mycroft Holmes, Dom/sub Undertones, M/M, Vampire Greg Lestrade, Vampire Mycroft Holmes, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2020-02-19
Packaged: 2021-01-12 23:13:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21234161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grossferatu/pseuds/grossferatu
Summary: Mycroft Holmes is a vampire. His pet, recently turned vampire Greg Lestrade, loves him very much.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I was reading some of my old fanfic and decided to continue some themes.

Greg had barely walked into the room when Mycroft was on him, pulling him roughly to his chest and sinking his fangs into the other vampire’s neck.

“Hungry, much?” Greg chuckled, tilting his head back so he could expose his neck further to his dominant.

Mycroft pulled back with a satisfied sigh, sealing the cut with a lick that made Greg’s eyes roll back in his head. Even after all this time, there was nothing more intoxicating for Greg than being fed on by his dominant, the scent of copper and the narcotic effects of Mycroft’s saliva combining in one extremely heady combination.

“Of course,” Mycroft replied. “You’re mine, and that makes it ache all the more.

Another whine, and Greg reached for Mycroft’s hand, clutching it tightly. “Are we going hunting tonight?” he asked. “I had to deal with your brother all day.”

A century of Sherlock Holmes was too much for even saintly men, and Greg had far from such a temperament.

“Of course, pet,” Mycroft said. “Come to bed, first. I have missed you so.”

-

After, Greg stared at himself in the mirror of Mycroft’s opulent bathroom, watching the rapidly fading bruises on his chest with an almost wistful expression. Ever since he had been changed, the marks his master left on him were no longer as permanent. It made discovery less likely, true, but that had been part of the thrill.

For all the shit Sherlock gave them, Sally and Anderson where not stupid. They were even clever, by human standards, and Greg had always wondered, half breathless, if one of them would notice. If they had, that would have been an excuse to grab the discoverer roughly by the wrist, pressing them against the wall in a supply closet somewhere and drinking the memory from their mind. He had not craved blood, then, but he had never been exactly human.

He yelped as he felt Mycroft come up behind him.

“I’m quite glad I had the mirrors changed when I could,” Mycroft said. “It means I can make you watch as I make you come undone again.”

Greg squirmed under Mycroft’s fingers. “I was thinking about Sally,” he said. “I wish she had found out.”

“Oh?” Mycroft asked, a perfectly manicured nail ghosting across one of Greg’s nipples. Greg let himself be distracted for a moment by the thought of sucking blood out from under them. For all his prim and proper appearance, Mycroft liked to get personal when he hunted.

“I could have fucked her, made her…” he trailed off as Mycroft’s fingers trailed downwards. “It would not have been fair to do so, otherwise, and now she’ll never figure it out.” He sighed. “The bruises heal too quickly.”

Mycroft made an amused sound, his fingers now at the edge of the curls of Greg’s pubic hair. “I am very glad you controlled yourself, dear. I would have been forced to take you off the force, and that would have made my brother very sad.” He licked absently at Greg’s neck on the spot that had long become over-sensitive from being bitten and then healed again.

“What would you have done with me?” It was slowly becoming more difficult for Greg to speak.

“Keep you. Mold you into a trained assassin, perhaps, turned you and broken your mind even further so that I might have a pretty hunting companion, someone who would suck my cock as I drained my newest prey dry.” Greg could see his smirk in the mirror. “You are far more useful to me in your current state, but it is a lovely thought.”

Greg’s cock jerked to half-hardness at his master’s words. “That sounds very good,” he said.

“Someday, pet,” Mycroft said. “When you are no longer useful as you are in the human world. I promise.”

He wrapped his long, thin fingers around Greg’s cock, setting a slow, agonizing rhythm. 

Greg shuddered, grabbing onto the sink to steady himself.

He came slowly, spending himself on the floor.

“Clean it up,” Mycroft said.

Greg nodded, falling to his knees so he could lick up his own cum. It wasn’t as good as cleaning Mycroft but knowing that his master was watching him behave like this was almost good enough to make up for it.

“Are you satisfied, pet?”

Greg shook his head. He was still hungry in a way that his master, no matter his kindness, could not feed. That was just the way of him, and his master was compassionate, and understand.

Mycroft gently helped Greg to his feet and led him to the bedroom. “I am sorry about the bruises, dear,” he said. “I will see if I can find a way to mark you more permanently.”

Greg shivered. “Thank you,” he said. “Thank you.”

-

Greg’s abilities had only grown since his transformation, and that combined with Mycroft’s strength as an older vampire meant that they could walk functionally unseen along the well-lit streets of the most opulent neighborhoods of London.

The wealthy did not die unnoticed, but that meant nothing the Yard could rustle up half a dozen human scapegoats. In recent years, humans had become more prudent at night, but this was the modern era, an age of streetlights and industry. Monsters that stalked the night were an artifact of another time, or at least other neighborhoods.

A man in a scruffy hoody found himself abruptly dragged into an alley and pressed against the brick wall of a house. A second figure, wearing fine leather gloves, straightened a bin.

“Hello,” Greg said. “Master says I can feed tonight, and you are very pretty.”

He was pretty, in an objectionable sort of way. His bones were fine under the flesh of his face and had been carefully smoothed into waves. He reminded Greg almost of Sherlock, which could not be the reason why Mycroft had picked him, surely.

“You are going to die,” Greg continued, and the blood drained out of the man’s face. “I can smell your blood. You are afraid, aren’t you?”

His voice was rough from hunger. He looked younger, like this, as all vampires did, and he smiled as he finally smelled his prey’s shocked arousal.

“Yes, good,” Mycroft said. “He’s very… affecting, don’t you think?”

“What are you doing to me?” the man asked. “You can’t—”

Greg pulled his head back to expose his neck, gaze transfixed on his pulsing artery. “I can,” he said, and bit.


	2. Chapter 2

Greg’s prey struggled weakly. He smiled, wrapping a hand around the man’s cock, stroking with paradoxical gentleness.  
The man bucked helplessly against Greg’s hand, before coming violently over the grey-haired vampire’s fingers, mind now a complete blank.   
A death by vampire feeding was kinder than the usual sort of exsanguination, if dying in the midst of powerful bliss could be considered kind. Greg let the body drop to the ground, absently licking up stray droplets of blood from his lips. He watched Mycroft carefully, hoping that his master too would give into his baser urges.   
Mycroft’s eyes darkened, and he looked at the prone, bloodless form.   
“Do you wish for me to fuck you here, in this alley?” he asked. It was not truly a question, more a warning to remind his pet for what exactly he was hoping.   
Greg nodded eagerly. Drinking the man dry had made him hard, and the nature of his subservience meant it would not subside until his master had used him. Being taken violently by his flesh-drunk master in this dirty place, seeing Mycroft’s neat clothes marred with the dirt of an alleyway, thrilled him like few other things could.   
Mycroft set upon the dead man like an eager vulture. When they had first began their relationship, Greg had assumed Mycroft fed as he usually presented himself: neatly, carefully, not a speck of blood wasted.   
He had been utterly, delightfully, wrong. Mycroft tore at the man’s flesh with clawed fingers and sharp teeth alike, viscera coating his face as he indiscriminately gulped down what parts of the corpse he could. By the end, his hair would be matted with red and his eyes would be a pale, pale blue.   
He stood, his jacket open, his white shirt stained crimson. The body below him was all but skeletonized, and Greg barely had time to admire him before he found himself slammed against the wall of the alley. Mycroft sank his teeth into Greg’s neck. Greg could feel how hard he was against his thigh, and he whined deep in his throat.   
“Please, please, master, please, fuck me, please…”  
He was turned forcefully, face slammed into the wall, arm wrenched up and to the side behind him. He whimpered again as Mycroft forced his pants down, wasting no time to press his cock inside him.   
It took Greg every ounce of his rapidly diminishing self-control not to scream in that instant. While people coming to check would mean more meals, it wouldn’t do to draw too much attention to themselves.   
Mycroft came quickly, as he always did, leaving his cum dripping from Greg’s ass. Greg was still hard, and he looked at his master as pleadingly as he could.   
Mycroft chuckled. “It’s time to go home, dear,” he said. “I’m not finished with you yet.”  
“Please…” Greg said. “Please.”  
The corpse would be dealt with by one of Mycroft’s underlings. Their driver, for their part, was a low-level thrall who did not ask questions whenever he saw his boss and his boss’s pet in such a ragged state.   
-  
Mycroft’s cock was thick in Greg’s mouth. It felt so good being on his knees, naked except for the collar, blood and Mycroft’s cum mixing on his tongue from when he had licked at the stains on his chest.   
Mycroft groaned, grabbing his pet by his silver hair. He likes to hear Greg make choking noises, even though neither of them technically had to breathe. It was always just so satisfying.   
He pulled out to leave Greg drooling, cum and blood mixing with his spit. Greg couldn’t help but stare up at his master with an adoring expression in his eyes, speechless from the dept of his devotion.   
“Do you still want to come, pet?” Mycroft asked.   
Greg nodded eagerly, a desperate mewl escaping his lips.   
“Good, boy,” Mycroft said. “You’ve been a lovely little pet. I think I’ll even let you use your hands.”  
It didn’t take long for Greg to come, shuddering, in his hand, slumping back on his knees. Despite himself, and mostly from the blood, he was half-hard again within moments.   
He whined, before huffing out a laugh. “If I had known becoming a vampire would make me a teenager again—” he started, before letting his hand drift back to his cock.   
Mycroft shook his head. “Not yet,” he said. “I think that’s quite enough for today.  
“What are you going to do with me?” Greg asked. It was hard for him to think like this. At least he didn’t have work tomorrow.   
Mycroft chuckled. “Pass you around, of course,” he said. “My brother has been wanting a taste of you for some time, and he may even bring along his pet to play.”  
Greg groaned. He loved the idea, couldn’t wait, but he knew it wouldn’t be happening tonight.   
“Patience, pet,” Mycroft said. “Patience.”


End file.
